


the volleyball is beautiful tonight

by norio



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto waxes poetic about confessions. Akaashi withstands this, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the volleyball is beautiful tonight

“Akaashi, I got something to ask you. Wait, maybe I shouldn’t ask you. What do you think, Akaashi? Should I ask you?”

“I don’t know, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi locked the club room, tucking the key into his bag. The season had turned fairly cold, and the few students milling around campus were bundled in woolen hats and thick coats, walking briskly while looking at their feet. Gazing at them made him feel even colder. Even though he knew he’d be staying late for practice, he’d forgotten to bring his own scarf, and the harsh chill bit into his neck. Even he could be a bit of an idiot sometimes.

Then again, the reason he was always staying late for practice was the idiot standing in front of him, hemming and hawing loudly.

“I guess it’s okay,” Bokuto said finally, two decibels too loud, “Because I always ask you. Say, Akaashi, what’s the coolest way to confess to someone?”

“Confess what?” 

“You know! That you like someone.” 

Akaashi stared politely at him, letting his breath fog in a thin steam, and then walked off towards the school gates. Perhaps Bokuto had accidentally watched a romantic volleyball movie. Or Kuroo had set him off in some vindictive text. He doubted anyone had actually confessed to Bokuto. Those enchanted by Bokuto on the court were quickly broken out of their spell by Bokuto in the classroom. Then again, there always were innocent first-years, so hopeful in a cool ace. 

Not that Akaashi followed Bokuto’s love life closely. But then again, he did have a personal interest. 

“It should be exciting, right?” Bokuto hummed to himself in deep thought, arms crossed. Even in his winter jacket, his sleeves were still slightly pushed up. His obnoxious resolution to the chill only made Akaashi feel colder. 

“In what way, Bokuto-san,” he said politely. 

“Like what if I was in a volleyball game! Nationals! And I was smashing down this killer straight! Then I yell out, I like you!” Bokuto imitated the straight a few times, as if he hadn’t already practiced for an hour.

“I don’t know who would hate you more,” Akaashi said thoughtfully, “Our team or the other team.”

“What?” Bokuto staggered back, shocked, but quickly jogged to catch up. “What if it was a killer cross?”

“The move isn’t the problem, Bokuto-san.”

“Killer feint?”

“Why would you think that’s different?”

They walked in almost silence for a while, broken occasionally by Bokuto’s groans at some thought or another. He wondered if Bokuto actually did have something in mind. No, that would be absurd. Bokuto only had volleyball on his mind. But perhaps Akaashi had been conceited in this assurance. He had always let his feelings rest within him, quiet and unbidden. It would be troublesome if Bokuto knew, he had told himself. Now he was faced with this conversation.

It left him vaguely uneasy.

“What about a killer cut shot?” Bokuto said, thumping his fist into his hand triumphantly. 

“Perhaps,” Akaashi said, reluctant, “you should consider the classics.” 

Bokuto tilted his head to the side. 

“What makes a good confession.” Akaashi rubbed the joint of his index finger. “The purpose of a confession. Consider those instead of spiking, for once.”

“You’re right, Akaashi!” Bokuto’s yell attracted some stares of passing students. Akaashi tucked his head down further into his collar, moving steadily towards the station. There were more pedestrians now, though he didn’t fear losing Bokuto in a crowd. The twin tufts of gray hair stuck out from the crowd, but he could always follow Bokuto’s outraged hollering.

“I think the coolest confession would make their hearts skip a beat,” Bokuto decided.

“Heart palpitations are a serious medical occurrence.”

“Akaashi! Listen, what if it’s not about how loud you yell it, but what you say.” Bokuto’s forehead knitted itself into knots. “A clever way of saying it!”

“For example?”

“Like if I said to you, give me all your tosses.” Bokuto grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. He was practically sparkling under the station lights, enamored by his own genius.

“That would be very annoying. For another thing, it’s impractical. Have you forgotten about your teammates? Think about the other team, as well. They would—”

“I get it! Geez!” Bokuto closed his eyes, grimacing. Even the ends of his hair seemed to be drooping. Akaashi withheld a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and a little bit, just the tiniest bit, of exasperated affection.

“But it’s not a bad idea,” he finally said. “Speaking about something only the two of you know is romantic.” 

“Right? Right?” Bokuto opened his eyes, grin returned. “A secret code! Like a cool confession in Latin!”

“Well,” Akaashi said, ignoring the stupider parts of the statement, “A love letter is also classic.”

“Love letter!” This time, the yell certainly did attract the attention of the people on the platform. But the train pulled up in a loud grumble, leaving Bokuto to mull as they entered. There was only one seat left, which Akaashi took. This already happened once or twice, and Bokuto always insisted that Akaashi take it, come on, an ace like him didn’t need to sit, just sit already Ak-aa-shi. Given how loudly Bokuto squabbled, Akaashi conceded without much resistance. 

Besides, he did like their quiet times. Bokuto stood in front of him, withstanding the train’s lull. When Bokuto was quiet, he could be quite handsome. He had a somber silhouette and a serious composure, face strict lines and eyes bright on an unmovable point. 

Annoyingly, though, Akaashi also missed the loud Bokuto at these times. It was strange not to see him yelling, his eyebrows quirking. Not to see the way he turned towards Akaashi expectantly, arms outstretched. He was someone always in motion. Akaashi looked down, tracing the line of his ring finger. It was all Bokuto’s fault, him and his strange conversation, which made him think about these things. He should stop thinking about it.

He wondered if this hypothetical person who deserved all these confessions even knew about this side of Bokuto.

“A love letter,” Bokuto said somberly, “is like a gift, isn’t it? Then isn’t the more the better? Wouldn’t your heart skip a beat if someone confessed to you with a love letter and ten dozen roses and a coupon to the sports store and maybe that cool t-shirt in that store we saw the other day?”

“That’s called a bribe, Bokuto-san.”

“That’s fine, isn’t it?”

His annoyed sigh must have convinced Bokuto back into grumbling thought. Night had already touched down on the outside world, brushing over the buildings. The lights in the buildings flickered on, though they were only vague pulses from the faster train. In the opposite window’s reflection, he could see Bokuto’s broad back and his own face, subtle with an expression he couldn’t place. He lowered his eyes to the bag in his lap, following where the strap dangled over the seat.

“I need your help,” Bokuto said suddenly. “My haiku isn’t good.” 

“Haiku?”

“To write in a love letter! I got, I like you please go / out with me I play volley / ball and that’s cool right.”

“Do you really have nothing else to say?”

“Like what?” 

They halted their conversation when the train reached their station and they exited. The air had only gotten colder, and Akaashi blew on his fingers, mildly annoyed about his forgetfulness once again. Under the station lights, he could see the redness over his fingertips. A sudden warmth wrapped around his neck, and when he looked up, Bokuto was draping his own gray scarf on Akaashi’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.” He watched quietly as Bokuto tied the scarf. 

“You’re choking me, Bokuto-san.” He watched quietly as Bokuto untied the scarf.

“I guess,” Bokuto said, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I could say what I liked about them! During the confession. What do you think?”

Akaashi thought the scarf smelled like Bokuto, and that he didn’t dislike that.

“What would you say?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know! I guess I’d say, you know. You know. With the you know!”

“Ah.”

“Don’t sound so judgmental, Akaashi! You know I’m not good at this stuff!” Bokuto ruffled his own hair in anguish. He was making some gibberish noises with his throat. 

They stopped by the store. Akaashi bought a meat bun, and split it between the two of them to share. He bit into the filling, careful to take small bites and avoid making a mess on Bokuto’s scarf. The scarf was surprisingly warm and soft. He allowed himself to touch at the fringes, guilty for some reason he couldn’t compose. 

“It’d be nice,” Bokuto said, “if after you confessed your super cool confession, they’d go out with you. Right?”

“You’re not expecting that?” Akaashi dug around for a tissue pack, pulling some out to wipe at Bokuto’s face. 

“I didn’t realize it until now! I mean, it makes things a lot easier if you think about it that way. That a confession is just the start of something new.” Bokuto grinned, eyes glinting under the street lamp. 

“So you have someone in mind,” Akaashi finally hedged. He turned slightly away, almost like he examining the concrete walls along the street. Bokuto always had good night vision. He might be able to see any suspicious flush on his face, even if he could explain it away as the cold.

“Hey, what’s your idea of the best confession?” Bokuto asked, completely ignoring him. Akaashi sighed, curling his fingers around each other. 

“I don’t have a preference.”

“Really? What would you want the person to say?” 

They stopped in front of Akaashi’s house. Bokuto’s bright eyes peered at him, watching intently. It was quiet around them. Bokuto’s house was further away. There was a shortcut from the station, but Bokuto always insisted to walk together. Akaashi ran his fingers along the bumps of his knuckles. He could imagine himself saying it in the heat of the moment. He could be bold, and say something charming. 

It doesn’t matter as long as it was you, Bokuto-san. 

Confessions, though, were heavy. This weighed like stones on his heart, and it would be a burden on Bokuto. They had practice and matches together. It would be irresponsible and irrational for him to confess. He ran simulations in his head, imagining his confession in a whisper to a shout, but the best outcomes were nothing but fragmented wishes. This was silly. Bokuto was just talking about a hypothetical situation. But the words still tingled on the tip of his tongue. In that moment, he could say it. 

Instead, he tightened his grip on his shoulder strap.

“Isn’t it getting late?” he tried.

“Come on, Akaashi. Come on, tell me. Akaashi, tell me. You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone else! Tell me—”

“It doesn’t have to be said,” Akaashi finally muttered.

“You want someone to text it to you? Great idea! I found a great picture of an owl that’d fit perfectly.”

“Not exactly,” Akaashi said, cutting off the owl picture speech, “But sometimes, you can tell someone loves you by the things they do, and not just the things they say.”

He pulled the scarf up higher against Bokuto’s gaze. Bokuto’s mouth had dropped open slightly, surprise written all over his face. He was obviously impressed by Akaashi, and Akaashi looked away to his house nameplate. His cheeks felt warm. It wasn’t exactly a spike, but this setter dump would do. 

“Well, a spoken confession is better,” Akaashi said, straightening his shoulders. “If I really had to say, I’d like a confession that gave me time to respond.”

“I don’t get it,” Bokuto said with confidence. 

“Sometimes I’m told my expressions are difficult to read.” Akaashi shrugged. “I’d just like a chance to explain myself in return, so they don’t misunderstand my expression.”

“Really? But I like your expressions, Akaashi. Every time you look at me, I fall in love with you all over again.” 

Akaashi stared at the wall. 

“Geh! It’s late! When did it get this late! Why didn’t you say it was this late!” Bokuto glared at the night sky, kicking at the pebbles in the road. “I was going to do stuff tonight, too.”

“I… did tell you. Bokuto-san.” His words sounded stiff, but Bokuto apparently didn’t notice, groaning to himself.

“What? Well, whatever. See you at morning practice! We’re going to do a lot of spikes. So get to bed early, that’s an order, Akaashi!” Bokuto waved, walking off down the street. 

Akaashi opened his mouth, but he couldn’t even consider what he was trying to say. He hadn’t misheard. The words rang distinctly in his ears. He was having heart palpitations. He was an idiot. He was an absolute idiot to be so swept up in such stupid words. Bokuto hadn’t even realized it, but here he was, heart beating in his ears and face definitely redder than any reasonable excuse in the cold. 

He leaned against the wall, pressing a cool hand against his forehead. Bokuto had definitely said love. He said love. He was in love with him. This entire stupid time, he’d been trying to stupidly research the best way to say it. Bokuto was an idiot. He was an idiot. His thoughts were fluttering around him, and he wound the fringe of the scarf around his fingers tightly. The heat flamed up from inside him. He had buried something deep within himself with an impractical carelessness. Someday, he always told himself, but that someday was here, and he could feel it grow inside of him, warm and happy. Happy. He was happy. 

He could indistinctly hear rapid footsteps approaching him. Someone in a remarkably fast run. Finally, he looked up to see Bokuto flying at him, face a matching flush.

“Akaashi!” he yelled. “I messed up! Wait, forget about that! It slipped out! Akaashi! I was going to do it during a killer joust! Akaashi! Let me do it again! Hold on! I’ll do a better confession! Akaashi!” 

Akaashi turned away, pressing the scarf to his face to hide his expression. 

He supposed they could be idiots together. 

“Hey,” he finally said, cutting off Bokuto’s frantic squawks, “What do you think is the coolest way of telling someone that you like them too?”


End file.
